


lain with holy wars

by The_Resurrection_3D



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 01:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30131568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/The_Resurrection_3D
Summary: Do you want kids?Originally published: 08/21/2019
Relationships: Paul/Tord (Eddsworld)
Kudos: 2





	lain with holy wars

**Author's Note:**

> A PaulTord fic I wrote at 2 am several years ago. Hilarious that this was originally written as a copefic and even almost three years later I still find myself coming back to its concepts. I'd taken it down to revise it for a writing contest, but by this point I've rewritten the "original" version to the point that all it shares with this fic is like... three lines of dialogue. So I figure there's no harm in reposting it.

_Do you want kids?_ Paul asks one day. Around them, Tord's great machine groans with uneasy life, no doubt firing onto whoever or whatever is in the ambit of its drills -- a Leviathan of steel and blood, carving the world out for the rest of the Red Army to repopulate. Paul can still remember looking at the first blueprint and joking that they should call it ‘Project Big Sexy.'

Paul and Tord are in the cockpit again, sharing a chair a few feet away from the old pull-out couch Tord’s mother used to own. Patryck is still asleep deeper into the machine's bowels, folded onto himself in the vestigial guard station overlooking the circle of holding cells with inhabitants frozen mid-gesture. Patryck said yesterday that when he sleeps he always dreams of them spinning around him, gently bobbing up and down like horrified merry-go-round horses.

Paul scratches his chin; he needs to shave.

In his lap, Tord stirs, lifting his head up slowly. He'd been up earlier, typing so feverishly and soothingly Paul hadn't the energy to ask him what was wrong and receive his customary answer of _My thoughts are just too loud._ Then, when black billows of smoke had started pouring in the edge of the windshield, Tord had checked to make sure the defense system was still unscathed and blocked the screen with a podcast on 90′s cartoons.

Curled up in Paul's lap to run his cold hands underneath Paul's sweater and listen to his heart.

Tord makes a thoughtful noise, mulling the question over. _I dunno. Kind of? Why?_

_I dunno, I just had a dream -- well, less of a dream and more like a repressed memory --_

_Do you need to show me on the doll where the -- hey!_ Tord blocks Paul's attempted blow to his head. Domestic violence! With his own counterattack towards Paul's groin.

 _I'll show you domestic violence._ A poke to Tord's stomach, where he's most ticklish.

 _See, how can you ask me about having kids when you're assaul --_ he breaks down in laughter as Paul tickles him, desperately swatting Paul's hands away. _Assaulting me right now? We can't let our kid see that._

Paul rolls his eyes but lets his hand fall to his side.

 _They need to learn violence the old-fashioned way_ , Tord continues. _With first-person shooters and Norwegian death metal music._

_I thought watching Daddy slap Mommy around was the old-fashioned way._

_That shit's antediluvian at this point; latchkey kids are the real recent past._

Tord rolls up his sleeves, revealing that off-color scar on his elbow just above the mount that Paul has never asked about, only watched as Tord feverishly searched for it amongst the plains of burns over his right side and sighed in deep relief when it was found.

God, that was ten years ago now. Tord still pulls Paul’s arm away whenever it curls around his neck as they lay in bed.

And Paul still calls his dad 'Jack.' Don't ask, don't tell.

 _Hey, Paulie,_ Tord says, touching him under the chin. _You've got that thousand-yard stare again._

A grunt. _Sorry._

 _And, to answer your question more fully, I guess I kind of want a kid, but I can't really decide if I want a_ child _or a little doll that'll just love me unconditionally, you know? Because I can go build us the latter right now and have it done by dinner._

(Below them soldiers sweep a bombed-out school and arrest all the survivors, twin boys hiding under desks from the autumnal fallout.)

Paul purses his lips, hands crawling up to rest on Tord's hips. _I guess that makes sense._ He thinks of his dream, of a small version of them both -- his thick brows, Tord's sandy hair, his tendency to carry baby fat around like a favorite toy, no face -- playing football in primary school while him and Tord cheer from the sidelines, voices so loud and drunk over the other parents'. And feels something sinking in the back of his throat.

 _For what it's worth_ , Tord continues, pressing a firm kiss to Paul's mouth. _I'd think you'd be a great dad._


End file.
